


Secret Agent Man

by whichstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Buttertacles Attacks Take 2, Cowboy Hats, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, Surprise Kissing, We Are All Jojo, make out fake out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-05 10:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12792210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: Castiel kissed him like it was a god-given mission, tongue and lips immediately prying into Dean’s mouth.





	Secret Agent Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jojodacrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojodacrow/gifts).



> Huge thanks to zaphodsgirl and violethaze for being the best and most entertaining beta readers <3

The ballroom was a whirl of silk and leather. Castiel stood back from the surging crowd, his Stetson dropped low on his brow and legs crossed at the ankles. He lounged against a waist high table and ran his fingers slowly up and down the stem of his champagne glass. A toothpick played between his teeth, the perfect detail to telegraph indifference in tonight’s Western-themed masquerade. He took a slow, silent, calming breath. It was almost time.

A young woman dressed in bordello style pantaloons and a hitched up crimson dress waved a tray of delicately assembled hors d'oeuvres under the brim of Castiel’s hat. He examined the offering - thinly sliced steak skewered into ribbons and drizzled with spiced sauce. With a short nod to the waitress, he took one. He removed the toothpick from between his lips, set it on the table, and devoured half the steak in one salty, spicy bite. He had to admit, the food was at least appealing. The act of eating helped him to blend in and he held onto the half-eaten skewer as though he were about to take another bite. Castiel was just another person taking a break from the dancing and socializing to eat. Nothing to see here.

The room teemed with partygoers in faux frontier dress and the revelers spun the center of the room into a bright mess of colorful silk and fashionably-distressed leather. Many of the attendees had affixed large feathers in their hair, or sported boots and spurs, low slung belts, and velvet embroidered vests. There was a glut of cowboy hats in the room. 

The party was Western themed, and Castiel hated it. The atmosphere was every gauche stereotype he could imagine and far removed from any actual frontier inspiration. An electronica rendition of _Wild Wild West_ overlaid with steel guitars transitioned into the raw, opening strains of a guitar-strummed tango, and Castiel’s fingers tensed on his glass. In the small beat of quiet at the start of the song, two people clapped sharply in unison. Castiel tilted his head up and peered over the crowd. There. In the center of the ballroom other dancers began to clear space around the two people who had drawn attention to themselves. 

Dean Winchester stood in the middle of the ballroom, his face shadowed by his upflung arms as he struck a matador pose to Bela Talbot, his dance partner. Dean rose like a tall dark god from the dance floor. He wore soft, long tuxedo trousers which hugged his graceful thighs like skin. Over a dark gray shirt he wore a rich plum vest that accentuated his well muscled back, which was currently curled dramatically backward as he posed for the opening strains of the song. Then he stamped once. Twice. Dean looked up and winked in Castiel’s general vicinity and his mouth went dry as Dean began to dance. 

The crowd was peeling back now to give the two dancers more room. Bela and Dean curled in towards each other, dancing in and out of each other's orbits in a tantalizing display of attraction and want. Dean moved powerfully, sweeping in and twisting away and looking all the while as though he had enough power banked in his gaze to bewitch the whole room. Castiel dropped the hors d'oeuvres and pushed away from the table, the champagne flute still in his hand. The lights throughout the ballroom dimmed leaving only the ones in the center of the room bright. Dean and Bela danced in an apparent spotlight now and Castiel allowed his mouth to quirk up into the slightest smirk, wondering which one of them had managed to woo both the D.J. and the lighting technician. Perhaps both of them had done so. They made an excellent team.

Castiel sidled towards the dark hallway at his back. The crowd was thinner here, and he took care not to be noticed. He carefully leaned against the wall and pressed the champagne glass against his forehead as though overheated, his hat tipped back against the wall. There was a guard standing at the mouth of the hallway. Castiel had been watching him all night, looking for a crack in his attentive defense of the corridor beyond. He’d at last noticed that the guard was perfectly on form except for when he was distracted by showy dancers out on the floor. Castiel had outlined his play to Dean and Bela and now, he saw with satisfaction, his plan seemed to be working. The guard had been drawn out and away from the hallway, his eyes on the two dancers in the middle of the ballroom, a light smile playing on his lips. The crowd gasped and then cheered. Castiel didn’t know what had set them off; his eyes were only for the guard. Whatever had captivated them had done the same for the guard. Castiel spun like a shadow around the unguarded corner and disappeared into the dimly lit hallway. 

He strode with wary purpose. While the hallway guard had been attentive, he’d not been so attentive as to let Castiel think the rest of the hallway was unprotected. Almost immediately the thick walls of the Alacko mansion stripped away the heavy pulse of music from the ballroom. Castiel kept his hat tipped back to better hear and quickly dropped into a crouch beside a large gold enameled vase, shoving his champagne glass into the space between the vase and the wall. He shook his plastic gun from a concealed pocket in his sleeve and screwed on a silencer which he removed from his other sleeve. He pressed nimble fingers to his boot heel, the quick depression revealing a hidden hatch which concealed metal from even the most sophisticated scanner. He took out the six bullets hidden within and loaded the small gun. Now armed, he continued down the corridor.

His first quarry presented itself almost immediately. A guard paced the hallway, his back to Castiel. He towered over six feet and wore a bulky black gun at his hip. A bluetooth antenna emerged from one ear like the nose of a curious snail. Castiel approached on silent feet, using surprise to take him out swiftly. He pressed one hand to the guard’s mouth to muffle his scream and the other to his throat, cutting off the flow of blood to his brain with one well positioned finger. The man thrashed in his arms and Castiel gritted his teeth as the man staggered in his unfailing grasp. Castiel guided the guard’s stumbling steps towards a door in the hallway. He collapsed just outside of it, Castiel maintaining the pressure until he was sure the guard was completely unconscious. He checked his pulse - weak but present - and dragged the man into the empty, quiet room. Castiel worked quickly to zip tie him to a chair, clear him of weapons, and slap on a tape gag. He pulled a knife and a gun from the guard, sliding the handgun into the waistband of his pants and the knife up a hidden sheath in his sleeve. He grabbed the radio from the guard’s ear and pressed it into his own. Aside from some discussion about a drunken reveler in the back garden, the comms were quiet. Castiel allowed himself a quick, grim smile, then moved back out into the corridor.

Now armed with two guns and a silver knife, Castiel continued down the hallway. The next guards were not as lucky as the first. One of them had turned to glimpse Castiel down the hallway and Castiel had shot her with deadly precision just as she opened her mouth to speak. Her companion went down from the deadly zip of a bullet before he could even turn around and Castiel grimaced as he pulled the two bodies out of the corridor. He’d hoped for only one guard on detail tonight and wondered if their attempted heist had been leaked somehow. Grimly, he suppressed that worry and pressed onward.

At the end of the corridor stood a tall, unassuming white paneled door. The door had a glowing blue display next to it and Castiel approached it warily. He made sure his cowboy hat blocked his face from the cameras as he ran curious hands over the panel. The feed should be running through the loop Charlie fed it, but it never hurt to stay cautious. _Top grade work_ , he noticed as he examined the panel and his spirits fell. Castiel was skilled at disarming most security systems. However, this one was far more sophisticated than most and as Castiel examined the edges of the casing, he realized that he couldn’t do this part of the job alone. Their tech survey had underestimated the Alackos. He sighed. He needed to pull in Winchester.

He raised his wrist to his lips as though yawning and murmured, “Winchester. I need you.” 

Dean Winchester’s voice rumbled in his aural implant in an amused laconic drawl. “Well, sweetheart, been waiting for you to say that for months now.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. Winchester, the latest addition to their tactical team, approached every situation with a smirk and innuendo. “Panel’s a Gilead Pro Z. I don’t want to risk--”

“Say no more. On my way.”

Castiel waited, pressed into the wall where two corridors met. He didn’t have long to wait. Dean soon arrived, eating up the distance between them with his swift bowlegged stride. He wore his cowboy hat again, so he’d apparently recovered that quickly after the dance, before heading straight for the corridor as soon as he heard from Castiel. Dean’s face seemed to light up when he saw Castiel. “You did good,” he said quietly as Castiel swiveled in place to lead Dean to the panel-protected door. “I didn’t run into anyone coming here.”

“And the guard in the ballroom?”

“Piece of cake. Bela faked a twisted ankle that ended up involving that guard and at least six other people. Slipped right on through.”

Castiel grunted at the news. Bela always did have a knack for deflection but he didn’t like that she had gotten so close to the guard. The last thing they needed was to cause a disturbance so near their target. If the guard was good at his job, he would remember her face. He jerked his chin at the display. “Have at it,” he said, then turned his back to Dean so he could watch the corridor. 

Behind him he could hear Dean talking to himself under his breath. He seemed to be hurling an odd mix of imprecations and seductive pet names at the device. Suddenly there was a beep and a hiss and Dean’s almost inaudible “Yahtzee.” Castiel looked back. The door was open. They were in.

They slipped inside the room, Dean gently closing the door behind them. “Camera still mirrored, Charlie?” Castiel asked and heard Charlie’s voice pipe up happily in his ear. Something crackled over the comm and he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Are you eating popcorn again?”

Charlie gulped and the crackling disappeared. “Who, me? Cameras are mirrored. Nothing on comms. And the room you’re in doesn’t seem to be wired anyway. They must not want a record.”

“Can’t blame them,” Castiel muttered. What they were after could take down governments in the time it took to stifle a sneeze. No buyers would want even the hint of a record that they’d been there and the smart ones would insist on scanning the place for bugs first. “You see the safe?” he asked Dean.

“Oh, I see the safe,” Dean said beside him, his voice low and reverent. Across the room a tall black safe sat against one wall, an onyx pillar rising up behind the sleek white settees. Dean skirted the seating area in the center of the room and knelt at the foot of the safe. “Oh, you beautiful thing,” he crooned to it, running his hand along its sleek black and chrome finish. 

Castiel cleared his throat in warning. “Are you planning on seducing it open or are you going to do your job?” 

Dean chuckled as he traced one finger along the alarm display. “Thought this was going to be your job. I recall you saying, in fact.” He lowered his voice in a rough approximation of Castiel’s low register. “‘This is a one person job. Dean, you might as well stay behind and get caught up on your paperwork.’” 

Castiel sighed. “You were way too excited about dressing up like a cowboy. Can you blame me for worrying? The last thing I need is a grown man with a five year old mentality running around--”

“Hey, you think I’d really get in the way of your first op?” Dean kept his face turned towards the display, which was already pried open revealing exposed wires. “I like y--” He shook his head minutely. “I like working with you. You think I’d try to mess it up?”

Castiel deflated. “Of course not, Dean. But I--” Dean always left him feeling unbalanced, like he was a disruptor slipped between headquarter’s orders and Castiel. Dean thought and often worked outside the box. That made him a brilliant field agent and an excellent addition to the team. But it also made him infuriating to work with sometimes, an unpredictable addition to Castiel’s plans. 

Or maybe, Castiel thought as his gaze caught on the way Dean’s trousers strained against the curve of his leg, he was infuriated with himself. He sucked in a breath and turned resolutely away. 

“Besides,” Dean muttered. “I cracked one of these last month. Took me an hour so you’d be stuck for sure.”

“An hour?” Castiel frowned in dismay. He’d taken out three guards and they only had another ten minutes before the hourly check-in. So far the chatter on his stolen comm was light and businesslike but that could all change in an instant, particularly if the dead and hogtied guards failed to speak up during check-in. 

“Relax,” Dean said and Castiel risked a look back at him. Dean was on his knees, leaning to the side a little as he peered through slim metal tubes revealed beneath the panel. His velvet vest rode up unveiling a sliver of body-hugging gray shirt underneath. It was the most tantalizing fully covered strip tease to which Castiel had ever born witness. “Last time it took me an hour,” Dean continued. “This time. Maybe…”

The safe clunked solidly as the tumblers rolled back. Dean cackled as the door swung open. Castiel swooped in, shifting the gun to his left hand so he could rummage inside the safe for their quarry. 

The contents of the safe were well organized, with cash in various currencies forming a wall at the base, a clear plastic tray full of what looked like diamonds, and a large block of Fuzzy H, a designer drug that had recently slipped into the market. Castiel reached beyond these to the slim black case sitting at the back. He scanned it for alarm mechanisms and then flipped the latch open to reveal three small microchips. The chips were wrapped in sturdy plastic sleeves and reclined on pillowed velvet in the little case. Castiel picked them up one by one and held them up to the light, examining their identification numbers closely. 

“Those the right ones?” Dean asked and Castiel nodded. He palmed the three chips and pressed open his boot heel again, laying them inside carefully. He engaged the pressure lock which would open only to his touch, in the right sequence. There. The chips should be safe even if he was captured. He switched his gun to his dominant hand again, gave Dean the gun he’d purloined from the guard, and then headed for the doorway while Dean set the safe to rights.

He peered under the door. No shadows fell to indicate footsteps outside. He gestured for Dean to get behind him and swung open the door. The corridor was still empty. Carefully, he proceeded down the hallway, Dean at his back.

* * *

The music from the ballroom swelled as they approached. The DJ had reverted to some kind of electronica-inspired monstrosity again and Dean shuddered internally. _Three Zeps and two Metallica_ , he thought, might be enough to wash this cowboy inspired crap from his ears. Dean followed Castiel down the corridor, noting the flecks of blood against the wall where he’d likely taken out guards. His pulse quickened picturing the scene - Castiel with a gun drawn up like it was an extension of his own body taking out the enemy faster than he could blink. Castiel was the best fighter he’d ever seen, and the most unassuming. Dean had seen more than one assailant confront Castiel, expecting some kind of paper-pusher, only to fall beneath his blade before they had time to draw a breath. 

As they paused at the corridor intersection, Dean fought to keep from pressing up against Castiel like some dime novel heroine. _God, I’ve got it bad_ , he groaned internally. When Dean had first joined the team he’d seen Castiel as a kind of joke, too overly stiff to be effective in the field. That was before he’d seen him in action. He’d given Castiel grudging respect then, which had quickly led to an odd friendship.

Castiel was the kind of agent who could pull a half-knit scarf out of his luggage at the airport, just hours after taking out a criminal cell, and talk quietly about his quest to discover his cat’s favorite food. The man was unfairly attractive, gruff and gentle, and deadly. It was a dangerous combination. Dean generally prided himself on being able to push his burgeoning attraction to the side and focus on work. Tonight was difficult, though. Tonight Castiel wore a sleek black shirt, tailored coat and pants that fit along the curves of his body, and a simple silver bolo tie. He wore black snakeskin boots and a Stetson pushed high on his brow and he squinted down the corridor like a gunfighter peering into the sun. It was like Castiel had walked right out of Dean’s fantasy life, and he’d resent it if it wasn’t so incredibly hot. He stored the mental image of Cowboy Castiel to revisit later, and focused again on the job, checking frequently behind them for signs that they were being followed. Any misstep would get one or both of them killed. 

The music from the ballroom was loud now and Castiel paused in the hallway. Dean knew what he was looking for. They had managed through luck and machination to sneak past the guard standing between the ballroom and hallway. They’d already determined from their initial analysis that there were too many witnesses in the ballroom to take the guard down forcefully. Even if they managed to lure him into the corridor, reinforcements would still rain down on their heads before they could get the cargo out of the mansion. They’d gotten in - now how were they going to get out? 

Peering around Castiel, he realized he didn’t see the guard. Dean muttered into his wrist, “How are we looking, Bela? We’re about to fly. Waiting on that guard.”

Charlie’s tinny voice sounded in his ear. “She’s stuck talking to Mrs. Alacko’s assistant who’s trying to get her to sign a liability waiver. She’s trying to get away now.”

“Oh, well, great. We’ll wait, Bela,” he said in mock pleasant tones. “Take your time.” He dropped his wrist. “We stick around and we’re sitting ducks. You know that, right?”

Castiel was squinting towards the ballroom. “I know.” 

“You think he’s out there?”

Castiel hummed. “No way to tell. On my mark we’ll go for it.” Electronic fiddles shrieked as a new song started up on the dance floor. “Go.”

Dean felt like a painted target moving down the hallway with Castiel. Their weapons were drawn but held at their side so the black would blend with clothing in a casual glance. Beyond the mouth of the hallway they could see the crowd dancing. The guard was still nowhere to be seen which meant that he was probably off to the side, just out of view. Castiel reached the corner and took off his hat, peering around for the whereabouts of the guard and looking for their chance to escape back into the crowd. He jerked back suddenly, gracefully, and whirled like a dancer towards Dean. Suddenly, Dean found Castiel’s fists wrapped in the lapels of his jacket as Castiel pushed him into the wall. He only had a moment to register Castiel’s grim-set face before he kissed him. 

Castiel kissed him like it was a god-given mission, tongue and lips immediately prying into Dean’s mouth. His stubbled chin pushed against Dean’s own, mouth warm and soft. Dean opened into the kiss, surprise overlaid with a strange mix of worry and glee. Castiel was obviously kissing him as a distraction, a cover story for why they were here in the hallway. Surely one or more guards were approaching now. Dean couldn’t see well enough to say for sure. Castiel’s fingers fumbled at Dean’s jacket and then he slipped his weapon inside Dean’s inner suit pocket, movements blocked by their bodies. 

Dean did the same, running his hands along Castiel’s waist, under his coat, until he could hide his own handgun in Castiel’s waistband. He held on tightly, his arms wrapped around Castiel’s narrow waist and firmly muscled backside. He slid one hand out and up along Castiel’s stubbled cheek, caressing him around the shell of his ear. His hand came away with the stolen comm and he palmed it, then reached around until he could neatly cup Castiel’s ass with his hand. Dean squeezed and then pulled gently. Castiel groaned at the touch and his hips jerked forward, pressing Dean into the wall.

It was the groan, Dean decided later, that had done it. Where half a second before he’d been calculating their odds of escape and trying out tactical scenarios, his hands and lips in motion while his mind was elsewhere, Castiel’s groan snapped him right back into his body. He was kissing Castiel and it was amazing.

Castiel licked his wicked tongue into Dean. His now empty hands had slipped to Dean’s waist, fingers hooked into Dean’s belt loops. Dean kept his hand on Castiel’s ass and ground his whole body into the kiss. Castiel moaned again and this time his hand slid to Dean’s thigh and cupped around his leg. He pulled slightly and Dean obeyed the direction and raised one of his legs so it could wrap around Castiel. Heat pulsed at his core at the contact.

“Hey. Hey!” The voice of the guard landed like cold water on Dean’s arousal. “What the hell are you doing here?”

At his question Castiel pulled away with a gasp, as though they were two lovers interrupted. “What?” he mumbled. Dean looked over Castiel’s shoulder at the guard, not having to fake the flush of arousal or his kiss-numbed lips. 

The guard rolled his eyes. “There are rooms upstairs, boys,” he said with the obvious impatience of someone who had been doing this all night. “Get the fuck out of here,” he ordered in a bored tone. 

Castiel laughed a sultry laugh and wrapped his arms around Dean, hiding his nose in Dean’s neck. Then he pulled up Dean’s wrist and held it up to his lips like he was kissing it softly. He locked eyes with Dean then whispered, “How about now, darling?” It was a warning issued into Dean’s comm telling Bela to leave immediately.

The guard rolled his eyes. “Out,” he commanded. 

Dean grinned and dropped the leg he’d had wrapped around Castiel. “Sorry,” he said cheerfully.

Castiel laughed quietly. “Sorry,” he mumbled, leaning down to pick up his dropped hat. When he stood, he grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled it around behind him so that Dean had to draw his arm around his shoulders. He knew what Castiel’s aim was - Dean’s arm would block the lump of the gun in his waistband. Dean grinned and did him one better, dropping his hand to his hip so that they pressed close together in the circle of Dean’s embrace. Castiel reciprocated and settled his own hand with fingers laced again in Dean’s belt loop. Together they hurried off into the crush of the ballroom and the safety of the exit.

* * *

A few days later Dean rapped his knuckles against Castiel’s office door. He strode in immediately and Castiel leveled a stern glare at him. “Why even bother knocking?” he asked.

“That a rhetorical question?” Dean said, walking to Castiel’s desk and settling himself in a stiffly stuffed chair with an air of great satisfaction. He was dressed in his office casual best: a pair of ratty jeans and a worn blue flannel. His sleeves were rolled up over his elbows. Castiel tore his gaze from the flex and pull of muscle in his forearms to take in the rest of Dean. He looked relaxed and almost smug. Dean crossed one leg casually over the other and leaned back in the chair, lacing his hands over his belt buckle.

Castiel set his stylus down on the tablet and folded his hands. He pursed his lips and raised one eyebrow at Dean, which had sometimes worked to settle the man in the past. He hadn’t been alone with Winchester since the party. Every time he saw him he was hit again with terrible desire. He wanted to do things to that man. Things that involved lips and teeth and hands and--

Worse, he wanted to talk about his _feelings_. With Dean. As though they hadn’t been just two agents trying to avoid getting captured. As though there were words - maybe apologies - that needed to be voiced between them. Every time he replayed the end of that evening, he found he was still not sure why he had kissed Dean. There were a million other excuses or approaches to get out of that situation, including killing the guard with one well aimed shot and staggering away with the body. In the pounding music, nobody would have heard a thing. Instead, he kissed Dean. And he liked it. God help him, he liked it a lot. Castiel looked at Dean and the words jammed, unspoken. He scowled. “What do you want?”

Dean’s gaze flicked to the stern set of his mouth, then he grinned. “Got us another case. Henriksen said I could take my pick, on account of the top notch lock breaking.”

Castiel did scowl now. “And you’ll be in charge?” 

“Naw. You will. You know I don’t have the experience yet.”

“I’ll be in charge,” Castiel clarified. “And Henriksen didn’t think he should talk to me first?”

Dean cleared his throat. “I asked to talk it over with you first.” He held up his hands and said in a conciliatory manner, “Don’t want to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

Castiel frowned at him. _Not comfortable with?_ “Details?”

“Resort in California. Five couples missing, possibly dead…” Dean leaned forward and balanced his elbows on his knees. He still wore a smug grin but something in his eyes projected a wariness that bordered on fear to Castiel’s practiced eye. “Undercover case. Two man job. We go in, check it out, figure out what happened to those folks.”

Castiel cocked his head at Dean. He could feel something bubbling up in his chest. Something like excitement. Something like joy. “And we’d be posing as…”

“Honeymooners,” Dean said carefully. 

Castiel couldn’t help the smile that spread slowly across his face. “Ah,” he said. “Well. Interesting case.” He looked at Dean and tapped a finger on his lip. “We’d have to share a bed.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, his own smile growing. “Those places. A double queen’s a giveaway.”

Castiel continued to run his finger along his lip. “We might have to kiss,” he said, almost breathlessly.

“Counting on it,” Dean said quietly, and then he laughed as Castiel dropped his face into his hand in embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry. For our last job. I shouldn’t have just--”

“Kissed me?”

“Without asking,” Castiel clarified. 

Dean shrugged. “Part of the job.”

“Of course, Dean. You’re right.” Castiel shook his head ruefully, feeling like his mind had just turned into useless mush. He heaved a deep sigh. “It is just part of the job.”

“Doesn’t have to be.” Castiel looked up. Some vestige of panic must have flitted across his face because Dean leaned forward still further and said in a low voice, “Doesn’t have to just be part of the job. Have dinner with me tonight.”

Castiel settled back in his chair. This whole conversation had been leading up the question, that much was obvious. Still, it surprised him speechless for a moment. The part of him that was staid and sensible lectured him severely about work entanglements and the complications that any relationship brought to the job. The rest of him roared about how right it felt to picture himself with Dean. He realized he had been silent for too long and Dean’s smile began to slip before Castiel finally sputtered, “Where? I mean, okay. Yes.” He nodded and Dean laughed at him. “I’ll have dinner with you tonight.”

“Good.” Dean pushed himself up then and slipped his hands into his pockets. He started to back towards the door. “Well,” he said, still faintly flushed. “I’ll uh, see you after work. Gotta get back to it.” He started to disappear out the door.

“Wait!” Castiel’s call pulled Dean back into his office. He raised his brows. “Dean. Is there even a case?”

“‘Course there is,” Dean said with a grin. “Doesn’t mean I can’t spin something to my advantage. Can you believe Henriksen wanted me to bring Bela?” He winked at Castiel. “You should wear those cowboy boots tonight,” he added. 

Castiel laughed out loud as Dean left and then nodded to himself. He felt alight with anticipation. He would wear those cowboy boots, he decided. He, too, knew how to spin a situation to his advantage.

**Author's Note:**

> For Jojo. May your recovery be swift!


End file.
